sacred sexuality, journeys and reenchantment

I come back, again, to forgiveness.
It is the foundation of everything.
Forgive your own indiscretions, as well as
the indiscretions of others.  which does not
allow for purposeful
disrespect, chaos, foolishness


We each are gods and goddesses
in our own stumbling dance
across the deserts plains and mountains
we are mortal messes
attempting connection, searching
for peace and joy and something
even larger


We are the living embodiments
of imperfection and confusion

Myriad manifestations
inside each mind
and the only thing
that is right
is to keep trying
to be better than
the last time.  Or if not better simply
different

The best magic trick is that there is anything here
at all.*

How loud it is, in our heads
Such a small place
encased in something solid
events and ideas and Being
clang around as if in a cage
causing so many
quick changes

But
if we open up
crack through the crust
and connect to everything
the world...would...slow

the cacophony quiets
dispersing pain and joy
to mix with the sea of souls
to share and spread and even out,
calm
the static.

Mutants and Mystics
what a wonderful idea.
Eroticism and mysticism
We are binary, oppositional not in antagonistic ways
necessarily
but black to white, self to other
because that makes sense
But nondual is the base of this
Not one, but
also not separate, instead
an instance of coexistence

Circling back to see the past pains and imprudence
giving the gift of seeing these as more
See the beauty
of self and mind
See the power
of forgiveness and progression
without anger or regret
even without fear
And with a heavy load
of love
respect and the ability to embrace
that Self, the integrity inside insecurity, the sexuality
the physical the spiritual
the MORE.  

There is a gift in touch
in the tingles that liven the living parts
there is power in that moment
when your passion, your thought, your hopes and fears
explode in fire
electric.
There is power and healing
and a special sort of grace
in the version of truth which exists
for each couple
each climax, each connection

The warrior, the bear, the moon in every phase
the hand that reaches through it's own darkness
to connect inside the darkness
of another

Forgive yourself your indiscretions
and the indiscretions of others
and in forgiveness
forge the perfect key
not to any answer
but to a darkened path that leads

Somewhere new, next
to the place where you can bring the Spirit back
the path to reenchantment
even if you never knew you were enchanted
in the first place.


*from "Holy Now" by Peter Mayer

Myth/Parable for class

The story should be about forgiveness, since that is part of my discovery of the wholeness from which we all should try to function.  And love.  And breaking down our own delusions just enough to let the light from everyone seep in...

I find I think of the Buddha at Bedtime stories, specifically the little bird who tried, with his tears, to quench the forest fire rather than save himself.  But that is less right, because the idea is to have a flawed main character, one who softly harms another, and who is still forgiven and, in being forgiven, learns also to forgive, to love
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Characters:  mother bear, broken and lost (Milda, a Lithuanian goddess of love and freedom); woman warrior (Lilith, Adam's first wife made at the same time as him, demon, one who refused to be dominated and chose independence)
Setting:  somewhere else, old, forested, perhaps a clearing like Terabithia
Problem: in her broken state, the bear attacks.  The warrior without her weapons, in her own grief, is taken by surprise and almost killed
Solution: time; as they lay beside each other healing, each learns to help the other, betraying everything they stand for in small ways, yet learning to trust and depend.  And they merge to grow into something more.
     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Strength does not always look like you thought it would.  In fact, sometimes you can be strong and not even realize it.  And if you allow yourself to love, and to be loved, for real, there is nothing you can't do, nothing you cannot be."

After her Great Loss, Lilith set down her warrior's weapons and wandered lost.  Her eyes were blinded by what she knew she should have been.  Her limbs were weakened by a pain that broke her spirit from the rest of the world.  Her ears did not hear.  Her bare feet bleeding did not feel.  She stumbled into a clearing that meant nothing to her.  And here, she crumbled to her knees to weep without tears, her strength ebbing into the dry earth beneath her, leaving an empty shell.

In the shadows nearby, wounded and angered hid the mother bear Milda. Her grief was also great, but her power still raged.  Blind and full of fury, Milda charges Lillith.  The woman screams, the bear roars and skin and fur blend with blood till each lies down, taken into blackness.  It is here that the universe tilts...somehow, by the hand of gods, invisible and fluid, one leaks into the other.  Lilith, being near the stream, drinks the water and spills.  Milda laps the small puddle and finds the strength to reach the bush beside her, ripe with berries.  Her paws, too weak to clench, offer her lips but the barest taste, the rest tumbling from her sharp and deadly grasp to a place where Lilith can reach.

Days pass, the moon grows small again.  Neither creature sees, and each one soothes and shares, giving both unknowingly and gratuitously.  Until the next night when the moon is a distant cup full to overflowing with blue white water and their eyes are clear.  Their death and weakness were neither.  And since there is no going back, the goddess of love and freedom and the first wife demon warrior woman each stand, one beside the other, moving forward.  Neither is ever alone, for each is now inside the other.  And so each finds that they are everything.

 Bear Woman Dancing by Susan Seddon Boulet

Nothing ever has

sometimes, I feel like I want to die.  But
I know that can't be right.

So I wish, instead,
that there was a way
to move through time while parts of you slept
So you don't have to see it all

Forgiveness is the gift.  Regret is the weight.  Time
is the only fix for anything.

With time, come chances,
changes.  I don't want these changes.
I have no choice

I have to keep talking to myself because silent
in my head
I go down the wrong path.
When I put it on the page, the wrong path just seems
pointless.

I am here.
I have to keep trying.
Each time something breaks, it is a gift.
I am trying to learn how to do things
the right way.

As long as I don't stop trying
as long as I stop trying to rush,
I believe I will be okay. I've
never
been one to shy away from chances
or from change.

If I take a wrong path, I have to remember
I AM A WARRIOR.
Warriors can cut through the woods to find the right road.
Warriors can make a new path

I have the tools
although I may have to sharpen
my scythe
perhaps even find a chainsaw to get through
this time.

But get through I will and here is why:
I'm different
I may need to be alone
I have done that and I can do it again
the difference is I choose to be
open
to the next step
I will NOT close my heart
the hard part is
it may take years
That, and little eyes are watching

And now, I am aware of the limits of time
I know there is an end
I don't want to waste time
alone
And there is the problem.  Being alone
isn't wasting time
It feels that way though. Things are hazy,
less,
too easy to lose
when you are alone

On the worry wheel my spokes
are mostly the same
I am scared I will be alone forever
scared no one will ever see me
again
from the bottom of my heart to the tips of my toes
the way he did

But since when
did fear ever stop me?
So why should I let it
stop me now?

the moon and true forgiveness

Between the month milestones
I don't think about the time
But when it gets close to the 22nd of a month, I look around
in panic searching out a calendar
I can't miss it!  How could I handle missing it??

And so far I haven't.
Four months, today

At dinner tonight, I lit our candles
over our fish sticks and sweet potato tater tots
we said our UU grace
and at the end I talked about how Daddy will always be in our hearts

Today, at church, a Buddhist quote hit me deeply
something about how we spend too much time
looking at the hand pointing at the moon
thinking that the hand actually is the moon

The hand pointing at the moon is not the moon

The writings of men and women
about religion
are not the religion
The idea is that WE ALL
have the ability to experience the love
these leaders carried with them
Jesus, Muhammad, Gandhi, Buddha...
the message is not the man.  The message is not the tale teller
The message is Itself.  Perhaps that is how I can believe in god
as the Message

And in my heart, something opened
Forgiveness
for when forgiveness is large enough
there is no hatred no all consuming sorrow
there is only here and now
knowing we all mess up
knowing nothing is perfect
nothing is finished
everything ends
Sensual sweetness and jagged edge
sharp spots are everywhere
and it is ok.

It is okay if you get cut in your travels.  We all do.
Sometimes we are even the ones
doing the damage.
forgive yourself
forgive the other
We close our hands around the sharp parts
sometimes
to keep others safe
Or we toss it and look the other way
and someone else gets hurt
some use the hard parts against others
in a misguided attempt at
protecting themselves.

Nothing is perfect
Everything ends
The finger pointing at the moon is not the moon

When I do miss one of the 22nd days of a month
it will be okay

I will just try to look for the moon, with my hands at my sides.

puzzle pieces

Sigh.  There is so much strange beauty inside this suffering that engulfs my family.  Do not misunderstand me.  I am making unhealthy stupid choices.  Trust me.  I am.  But everyone does that, in one way or another.  And I am choosing to think, in part because that is who I am.  But we also have this damn boulder we have to carry and it is up to us how to decorate it.  I mean, Neil told me he dreamed today after his nap.  He came up all excited about it!  So of course I asked if he dreamed about daddy...and that just sent him off on this soliloquy about bears and monsters and daddy helping him!  so damn cute...disconnected....but cute.

And then it occurred to me in real time:  I need to talk about John.  It took a little while before I could look at the photos I have around the house.  Then I could look at them, but thinking about John was just too much, at least to any significant degree.  Tonight, while I was changing Neil and getting his evening movie on (I wish I read more books, but don't judge me...I do what I can), I really looked at the photos of John...I looked in his eyes.  I studied his smile.  I was ok.  In fact, I felt blessed to have him to look at, to look over me.  No matter what you believe, you must acknowledge that he is not totally gone.  I am not the same person I was before I met him and I never will be.  That is his presence.  Each of our three babies have his blood flowing through them- that is his presence.  And John was extra blessed because he influenced so many out there.

I know I will be okay.  I do NOT know how.  Right now, I am holding onto some people and things that are not likely the types of things that would be judged as healthy, necessarily.  But we can't really judge each other.  I want to acknowledge that many, if not all, of these things are crutches.  And I want to find a way to leave those who love me right now better than they were before, no matter how long they are with me after.  I think that is a huge challenge.  But I will try.

Another thing I will try:  to be a little selfish.  In careful ways.  I don't feel like defining that.  I think it is beyond defining.  I will say, however, that my kids in most ways will come first.  As long as I can handle what is coming.

In odd ways, I see the multifaceted pieces that make me up.  so many beautiful puzzle pieces.  But I also sort of feel like I am water logged, worn, dog eared, dog chewed, and missing a few minor pieces.  There is still clearly a picture there, if someone (me?) can finish the puzzle.  But I see it there...perhaps not exactly like the top of the box. But I see. 

gratitude

smiley smiley smiling.  make a list of good things, of gratitude or joy or whatever:

I am grateful for:
facebook friends
for Louis C.K.
for lovely evenings and soft breezes and crickets
for Malbec wine
for Joss Wheedon
for chocolate chip pumpkin bread and people to share it with
for hot tubs and small swimming pools
for old students who visit me with hugs
for my plastic chair that doesn't rip when I sit in it (because my swing was ripping, grrrr)
for the look on Aiden's face when I got my daily kiss the other day
for soft evening breezes (I know I just said that, but another one just caressed me)
for new shampoo
for yummy smelling candles
for good books
for my friend Matt's posts on his World of Steam
for feeling sexy sometimes even when I am alone
for friends who watch my kids for free to let me go do things
for my super smart Reverand
for my church full of eclectic intelligent weird cool people
for good music
for friends who bring me cool music
for books that are hard to read
for people liking my posts and my blog entries
for grass under barefeet
for my kids riding my bikes while I walk the dogs (they keep up sooo much better that way)
for John's friends who like my posts and stay in touch, if only on facebook
for old boyfriends who still seem to care if I am ok
for unusual new friends
for chalice group
for choir
for the Gleaton's!
for my red head friends!
for the fact that gay rights are coming around enough so that we can hopefully talk about boys loving boys and girls loving girls even in a second grade classroom some day soon
for George Takei's posts
for Star Wars
for all the awesome books my brother has given me
for scary smart friends
for ice cream
for the crazy sweet snuggles my Cilly gives
for the kisses I get from Neil
for everyone who has let me try to help them
for everyone who tries to help me see that I am not alone
for memories of crazy adventures in sky diving and SCUBA diving
for my students

what is really cool and I am really thankful for, is that right now this list could go on and on....

thoughts...big and small

not thinking of big things today.  Just feeling the sore that comes from not sleeping so well for many nights in a row and working my ass off.  I put pumpkin chocolate chip bread in the oven a little while ago and as I swirled the gooey mess into the flour and cinnamon I found my mind doing odd circles around the history of baking.  As in, who the hell ever thought of cracking unborn chicken babies into gloppy stuff like this, mixing it with some dusty shit, heating it up and hoping it would come out yummy?  That person was either one of the most INCREDIBLE geniuses in history, or one hell of a nutcase.  My best guess is they were somewhere in between. 

Today is Frederick Fair day and there is no school.  We are planning on going to our friend's house and hanging out in her heated pool.  I figure that this is a good treat to hold over the heads of the kids to get them to clean their room.  I cleaned it for them about a month ago.  In less than an hour, it it was a mess again.  I stopped cleaning it.  Right now, I told them they are in their room until it's clean and, at the suggestion of a lady at school, they are "thinking of their room like a clock".  They will work in one corner until it is clean, then move to the next, until it is done.  They haven't been in there for 2 minutes and they are screaming and crying already.  This should be interesting.  I am not going in there.  I will, however, try to report back how it goes....oh, man, the decibel level just went up.  My daughter is screaming and pounding on the door, begging to get out while my son is telling her she can't.  Apparently he didn't realize that pee breaks were allowed.  Literal to the end, my son.

It is seemingly impossible for me to separate out the different parts of grief for me.  The practical issues, like getting the house clean and everyone fed, mix with the emptiness of my bed, my hand, my heart.  I look at my hands, my skin.  I see some of my father and brother in them.  I see scars and lines, small patches of pink and peeling skin from the psoriasis.  I think my life is like my hands.  Strong and soft and capable of many things.  Clumsy in places, torn, starting to wrinkle, battered and scarred.

On the Widows Voice blog today, a woman wrote about how jealous she is of people who had decades.  I feel that.  John and I were together, more or less, for 12 years. But we were married for only 8.  Exactly 3 weeks before he died.   I can't really let myself think of him too much, too deeply.  I don't know.  At my support group, there are several women who talk about how their husbands totally spoiled them, pampered them, cherished them.  I think I feel kind of sad because John wasn't so good at that.  I have written it before, but he was so focused on his coaching, so engrossed in what he did, that I always felt jealous, like I took a back seat.  And it tore him up.  He did the aftermath well, by which I mean he always regretted not showing me enough, not using the right words, not getting the idea of how to do a gift...Last Christmas was the worst.  I don't hold the hurt, though.  I figure it was right before the tumor started causing serious issues, so his forgetfulness was likely due to that.  But we did a wish list for all of us, all together, on amazon, right after Thanksgiving.  All 5 of us, even Neil, sat on the couch together.  I showed John, again, how to get to the amazon wishlist for me.  We set up his.  We went through and picked things together.  One of the things I wanted was a pair of Chucks, something bright and fun and low top.  That is the only thing he got me- although he got high tops and I can't wear them because they rub on my heels where the skin tears and rips with the psoriasis.  And he lost them so that they didn't show up till much later.  And on Christmas Eve, I had to stay up and wrap everything myself because he was sick.  And on Christmas morning, the only gifts I had to open were the two from these sweet sweet people at church who gave us each a little something.  And I couldn't even be upset-I couldn't share my hurt or sadness, because John was so incredibly sorry and angry that he had messed up.  He kept trying to give me his stuff.  I didn't like that at all.  I told him that especially since I didn't get presents, the only gift I was getting was watching him and the kids enjoy the stuff they got.  I was not about to let him ruin that for me. 

I am afraid of my 40th birthday without him.  I am afraid of Thanksgiving and Christmas and even New Year's Eve.  And I get to go back to hating Valentine's Day.  Easter I think will be mostly okay, because our tradition is to be outside.  We would go for a hike and I think that will be a nice way to sort of connect with John...

Which reminds me...a lady at group last night said that she and her family have started doing something her husband had asked for.  They got these two little wooden acorns that hold a small amount of ashes.  They go on their travels and adventures, places the family had gone when her husband was alive.  And the sprinkle a bit of his ashes out of the nut.  They take a photo of the place and the nut and plan on making an album to see all the places he was, in life and now in small pieces forever.  I think John would have loved that.  I immediately thought of trying to get some of his ashes to Japan.  But I couldn't give them to Dave because he has nothing to do with us anymore.  Plus, the point is to go with the family, if possible. 

That's another thing I think about.  A different woman at group talked about how there is a member of her husband's family who crossed a line of intimacy with her and she had to cut him off.  I don't want to say much about it, because it is her story.  But it made me so mad at Dave.  I asked to be held, and to lay beside him.  Even with Cilly there, so that he understood that I wasn't asking for anything but closeness.  And when it was apparent that he couldn't even do that, I hoped that we could just actually talk about stupid stuff.  Create a real connection.  And I never ever would have really hit on him.  EVER.  But just the asking and talking crossed his line.  I have to respect that.  But it seems so cold an stupid.  I guess it doesn't matter.  Because if that is how things are in his head, he wouldn't have been much comfort to me anyway.  Someone that afraid of anything honest and tender and helpful makes me sort of sad. 

I guess, all in all, I am doing mostly okay.  I worry about some of the people and ways I am reaching for comfort.  But they are working right now.  And I am only being honest.  And I am trying to keep telling myself that some of these thing that are helping so much right now are only temporary.  Temporary.  And there is no temporary that will hurt more than the temporary presence John had in my life.  So whenever those things go, whenever I choose to stop them, I can handle it.  Even if it hurts.  Because how could it ever compare to losing him?